


Make Me Believe (that I'm not strange)

by TottWriter



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Coffee Shops, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 05:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17258048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TottWriter/pseuds/TottWriter
Summary: Tsukishima's life is a cosmic joke at his expense. Misfortune and strangeness follow no matter where he goes, or what he does, and he's long since given up hope that he can escape it. He's just trying to get by with as little of it as possible.Yamaguchi has an unremarkable job and a humble apartment which it supports, but he's content with his lot in life, and how the magic which suffuses it cuts him off from doing the things other people take for granted.Neither is anticipating the change which awaits them both.





	Make Me Believe (that I'm not strange)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carnadine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carnadine/gifts).



> Ah, this is rather late now (gosh the story got entirely out of hand and demanded a lot more words to be told in!) but here's my gift for Shiho as part of the 2018 HQ Secret Santa exchange! 
> 
> The title for this story was taken from Iris Lune's Paper Mache, which...you probably don't want to know how long I had that song on repeat for while writing this.

The streetlights flicker as Tsukishima Kei walks past. One, two, three bulbs in succession stuttering as he passes beneath them. He pulls his coat closer around himself; tightens his scarf and scowls into the middle distance. It’s probably just faulty wiring, freezing up in the cold. It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.

...It’s the fourth time this week.

 

* * *

 

Tadashi loves his job, sometimes. True, it’s hard work, and not very well paid, and his boss can be pretty grumpy, and some of the customers are so rude he almost can’t believe it, even after three years—but there really are a lot of perks to it as well!

There’s a regular set of customers who come in, and that’s a real blessing because while most of them keep to themselves, a handful have gotten to know him as he makes their regular drinks, chatting about this or that and sharing their troubles, and it feels so good to be able to help them. Not that they know he’s helping them of course—he knows full well he can’t tell them what’s going on—but it’s nice, all the same. Sometimes new people come in, and if he can manage to give them a little extra spring in their step by the time they leave, so much the better.

It’s a nice job, on balance—the good days even out the bad—and if nothing else, he knows that when they close up he gets to go home, and none of the stress or trouble of it will follow him back to the little sanctuary in the city which is his apartment. He’s cultivated it carefully that way, and it might be a little on the small side, and his landlord certainly isn’t one of the most attentive people he’s ever met, but it’s home. It’s safe.

The first time he meets the tall blond, he’s been working since opening, and the afternoon is drawing on. That’s okay though, because the latest rush has just come to an end, and being busy is the perfect way for the afternoon to pass quickly. He’s carrying a tray of empty cups and plates back to the kitchen when the man walks in, tall and handsome and radiating more anxious, tightly-wound tension than anyone Tadashi has ever met before. It’s all he can do not to drop the tray he’s holding in surprise.

“I-I’ll be right with you!” he squeaks, trying not to stare.

Oh great, now he looks all awkward, as though he’s new on the job or the sort of unprofessional idiot who gets flustered by handsome customers. Which, granted, sometimes he does—but never so much that they actually notice!

He takes slightly longer than normal to set the tray down in the kitchen and dart back out to see what the man wants. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have to do everything himself, but it’s banking day so his boss is in the office upstairs, and with the end of the rush he’d suggested that Chigaya take advantage of the quiet.

Normally this is the time he enjoys most— it’s far easier to work the way he wants to without supervision, even if the workload itself is heavier. Now, he can’t help but ruefully wish that he hadn’t offered to clear the tables for Chigaya and let him go early. It’s not often that he gets a customer so clearly in need of help, and he’ll be better at doing so if he has half a moment to gather his thoughts first. Even if having an audience would make it harder.

Tadashi takes a deep breath, glancing down at himself to make sure his apron is straight, and walks back out to the serving area.

“Sorry about that,” he says brightly, smiling past the weight of the stranger’s tension. “What can I get you today?”

 

* * *

 

The man behind the counter is about his own age and almost as tall. He’s got a wide, bright smile on his freckled face, and he’s cute—far _too_ cute, all things considered. Kei bristles in self-defence because this is the face of someone whose life exists to contrast his own. He probably owns a pet and has potted plants in his apartment, and bakes artisan cakes or cookies on his days off or something.

 _Inappropriate_ , he thinks, forcing the unwanted thoughts aside. He’s not here to judge overly-cheerful coffee shop staff, he’s here to buy something for lunch. To buy something _quickly_ and get out again before anything can go wrong, the way it usually does. Before the till can mysteriously stop functioning, or a shelf can fall off the wall smashing the crockery beneath it, or a freak tornado appear out of nowhere and throw large, heavy objects at the cafe’s pristine windows.

But the man behind the counter doesn’t seem interested in fulfilling Kei’s wishes, because instead of getting to work with the efficiency Kei is somehow certain he’s capable of, he fusses and flusters around offering a list of specials which Kei has no interest in, and then insists on fetching fresh coffee beans from the back and grinding them fresh.

Kei’s eyes narrow, and he finds himself weighing up the pros and cons of simply walking out rather than wait. Not least of all because he can’t help but find the whole pointless charade _charming_ , and since when was that a sensible course of action.

 _I’ll give him ten seconds_ , he tells himself, but the man returns right as he’s done counting. Kei bites back a sigh, because of _course_ he does. And technically he could walk out _anyway_ , because ‘Hi-I’m-Yamaguchi’ proceeds to take a suspiciously long time at the grinder, and then patting things down and cleaning them up, and all the while Kei has one of his _feelings_.

He’s gotten used to them by now. They’re more or less warning signs in negative, because he’s learnt the hard way that allowing himself to follow them—or even be swept along in their general direction—is a certain recipe for disaster. He’s gotten as far as he has in life by learning to carefully ignore every nigh-subconscious inkling that he should do a certain activity, walk a particular way home, or even make simple, spur-of-the-moment decisions like booking a holiday, or taking a walk on a sunny afternoon. He’s learnt the hard way that strange consequences await him if he doesn’t ignore those inklings, and ‘strange’ is something he could do well without at this point.

Right now his feeling is that the man in front of him is good news, which of course means he’s anything but. It’s a shame, but that’s more or less Kei’s life summed right up in three precise, cutting words.

When ‘Hi-I’m-Yamaguchi’ is finished transparently dawdling over his order, he makes sure to offer the bare minimum of politeness as he pays for it, and leaves without looking back. He hopes the food doesn’t taste good, because it really _would_ be a shame to have found a decent coffee shop only to never be able to return.

He’s not even remotely surprised that it’s delicious. It just about figures, with his luck.

 

* * *

 

Tadashi frowns as the tall stranger leaves, hoping the bit of good fortune and cheer he wove into his food actually works. There’s something…intriguing about the man, that’s for sure. Something nothing to do with how honestly attractive he is. Well, _probably_ not, anyway. Tadashi is fairly sure he’s managed to get on top of any libido-based meddling in what he does. Magic’s a chancy enough business at the best of times, without letting ordinary human emotions tangle things further.

The cafe stays quiet for the rest of the afternoon, giving him more than enough time to think about the man. It’s been a long time since his instincts got this worked up about someone, so it’s hard to put him out of his mind. Even as he cleans up for the day and reports to the back office to sign out, he can’t quite shift the image of his face, hooded and guarded from the world at large.

 _No good worrying now,_ he tells himself, shaking his head. _There’s no reason to suppose that it didn’t work, so he’ll move on with his life and I’ve just got to move on with mine._

That’s how it works, after all. Fate has a way of throwing people who could use his help in his direction, the better for him to offer cheer, or a charm for good health, or any of a myriad other little tweaks which he can offer. Usually, once the problem is sorted they drift away again. They’re distinct from his regular customers, who tramp in and out on a pattern, stable enough that he knows when to set out more muffins, or traybakes, or what time of day to have the pastries laid out by in the morning.

He makes sure to cultivate a better relationship with these visitors to the coffee shop. It’s good for business, and besides. It’s not as though he can really foster real friendships outside of work. Friendships are dangerous. Friendships let people in, and there’s only so far he can afford to do that without risking someone finding out about his abilities.

His parents’ warning is enough to make him certain he doesn’t want that to happen. It’s altogether too common for it to end badly, for one or both of the parties involved. After being moved through ten different schools as a boy thanks to these sorts of incidents, Tadashi values the stability of his adult life far too much to risk endangering it.

Not even for tall, handsome strangers who he just can’t seem to forget about, try as he might.

The door to his apartment closes behind him. Tadashi sighs as he hangs up his coat and kicks off his shoes.

“I’m home,” he tells the empty space, and a tension in the air lifts. “Did you miss me?”

He yawns as he walks down the short hallway and into the living area. The room is already well lit; a comfortable, cosy glow coming from the far corner, but he taps two fingers twice against his thumb and flicks them away from himself.

Instantly, a dozen or so candles on the right hand side of the room spring to life, flames sputtering slightly as the wicks catch. Tadashi yawns again, and walks over to the brightly-lit corner, slouching down into a chair there. He glances at the source of the room’s initial illumination—a wood-burning stove on a ceramic pedestal, from which a reptilian face peers out at him.

“Didn’t get too lonely today, did you?” Tadashi asks. “I know I was late back, but Chigaya was feeling run-down today. I told him to head out early, so I had to clear things away by myself.”

The nose poking out of the coals wrinkles, disapproval evident in the way it huffs shortly.

“Oh, _okay_ ,” Tadashi says, resting his chin on the palm of one upturned hand. “I had a customer who needed help too. Nothing gets past you, does it?”

He smiles crookedly. “I hope he’s alright now though. He seemed nice, in his own way.”

 

* * *

 

There’s a certain inevitability to the series of events which sees Kei returning to Hi-I’m-Yamaguchi’s cafe a few weeks later, as he makes his way home after a long and aggravating journey from his parents’ house.

Between strangers with poorly-trained and worse controlled dogs which make him drop his bento; trains which run too late; buses which simply elect not to show up at all; and an old umbrella which decides to decapitate itself as he puts it up, he’s in dire need of a hot drink and something to eat.

He’d tell himself that there’s always a chance the friendly, freckled young man won’t be working again today, but he knows his luck better than that by now. He’s going to walk into the place and be met by an excessively and unnecessarily cheerful smile, and an inane question about what he would like to order, as if he weren’t going to tell the man _anyway_.

Ah, yes, there it is, right as he approaches the counter and starts looking over what’s left of the day’s fresh confection items. Do they get a lot of customers who show up and then just stand around expecting the staff to know their order telepathically or something?

It’s unfair, really. If he pushes past his poor mood and general irritation at life in general he’s perfectly aware that the man is simply doing his job, however inefficient he might be as a barista. But it’s been a long day with a lot of trying and deeply aggravating things happening to him, and he’s not really in the mood to be charitable. Especially as Hi-I’m-Yamaguchi seems to take every bit as long with his order as he had the previous time, and the deluge outside isn’t exactly getting any lighter.

By the time he pays for his order the sound of raindrops on glass is loud enough to drown out the safe option music playing quietly in the background. He has two choices. Venture back outside without the benefit of his umbrella and know that his food will be ruined long before he reaches home, or stay in the cafe and wait it out. Oh well. The afternoon is late, but probably not so late that he’ll be actually inconveniencing anyone.

“What time does this place close?” he asks, peering out of the nearest window. Surely the sky has to lighten up soon.

“What? I don’t—you…”

Kei turns around and glares at Hi-I’m-Reading-Too-Much-Into-This until the other man blushes.

“What time do you close,” he repeats, glancing down at his travel cup. “I know I ordered to take away, but I would prefer not to drown my food in rainwater, if that’s all the same to you.”

“Oh—Of course! Sorry, I—” He clears his throat. “Not for another hour yet. You’re fine to sit anywhere you like! I’ll bring your food over when it’s ready.”

Kei nods, and picks a table as far from the counter as possible, intentionally sitting with his back to it. He’d rather stare out at the rain than risk making eye-contact again after _that_ humiliation. To pass the time, he fishes the two halves of his umbrella out of his bag. The rain doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of letting up, so it would be helpful if there was any way to patch it up at least for as long as it will take him to get home.

Upon a more thorough investigation than he’d been willing to give while standing in the downpour outside, he can see that the entire fabric section and its skeleton have sheared off. The top of the handle is rough and jagged, metal bent a little where it has sheared off. So much for his plans to salvage the thing. From the looks of it, there’s nothing left to be saved. It feels a little like a metaphor for his entire week.

“Oh, what’s that?” comes an entirely too cheerful voice behind him, and Kei almost drops the pieces in his surprise.

“It _was_ an umbrella,” he says, intentionally letting his irritation show through his voice. Perhaps Happy-Go-Lucky-san will get the hint and leave, before something even _more_ unfortunate happens.

“Did you want me to take a look at it?”

Kei turns and stares.

“What?”

The other man shrugs, grinning with what Kei supposes must pass for self-consciousness as he sets the plate down on Kei’s table.

“I’ve got plenty of tape and string out the back,” he says. “Glue as well, as it happens. And it’s not as though we’re likely to get any more customers this late in the afternoon when the weather’s like _that_.”

“Why.” Kei says, not bothering to add any inflection. It’s not so much a question as it is a statement of disbelief, in any case.

“Oh, well, _you_ know! I like to help people I suppose.”

There’s a blush now, a faint red tint beneath all the freckles scattered across his nose and cheekbones, so Kei decides to blame a combination of that and his usual bad luck for the fact he just shrugs and hands the pieces over.

“If you’re really so bored that this actually seems like a good idea,” he says doubtfully. It’s a cafe. There’s _got_ to be something better to do than fix cheap old umbrellas. Unless…oh, wait. Is this guy seriously trying to _impress_ him?

“I don’t think you’ll have much luck,” he adds, shrugging. “The metal sheared off.”

A frown appears on the other man’s face, and Kei is about to smirk with satisfaction—he _knew_ it. It’s an attempt to impress him which will very shortly backfire, and—

“Are you sure?” Hi-I’m-Yamaguchi asks, peering at the jagged edge. “Sometimes with umbrellas it can look like that, but really they just came unfixed.”

Kei slides his plate across the table so that it sits more directly in front of himself.

“Ah, you’re a barista _and_ an umbrella expert then?” he drawls automatically, before his higher functions have a chance to kick in and save him from his own sarcasm. _Shit_.

But instead of getting offended, Yamaguchi just grins at him. “I guess you could say that,” he remarks, and waves the pieces at him. “Give me a minute and I’ll see what I can do, okay?”

He scurries out into the kitchen, or staff area, or whatever it is that lies beyond the open doorway to the rear of the counter space.

Kei shakes his head. At least he can count on a decent meal while Overconfident-san does whatever it is he thinks will actually help.

The rain is a loud and constant dinner companion, and Kei slouches into his chair as he eats his food. It’s increasingly clear as time goes by that the rain isn’t going to shift. It’s not moving, it’s not slowing. It’s a torrential downpour, straight down. Already he can see a drain a little way along the road choked with water and street detritus. It’s going to be an entirely dreadful walk home.

Or it _should_ be an entirely dreadful walk, but just a couple of minutes later the other man reappears at Kei’s side with a triumphant expression on his face, the umbrella held out in front of him. Somehow, it’s intact. Kei stares at it, trying not to gape.

“Ah, you were lucky!” comes the excessively cheerful explanation. “It wasn’t sheared off after all, it had just worked itself loose. Just as well in this rain, eh?”

“Yeah,” Kei replies, gingerly accepting the umbrella. This never happens to him. There’s bound to be some sort of karmic catch somewhere—he just hasn’t found it yet.

“Lucky me.”

 

* * *

 

“I think I like him,” Tadashi admits as he’s settled into his armchair that evening. “He’s not exactly _friendly_ , but he’s got a certain appeal about him.”

The little dragon in the wood-burner huffs, sending plumes of smoke billowing out of her nose. Tadashi laughs.

“Alright, _alright_ ,” he says, grinning. “He’s pretty attractive, too. Well. There’s this whole ‘so hot he acts cold’ thing he gives off. What can I say, I’m weak.”

They sit in silence for a while, serenaded by the gentle hiss and crackle of burning wood. Tadashi sighs, and sits forward in his chair.

“All the same, I don’t think anything is going to come of it,” he says. “I mean, I can’t exactly tell him about all _this_. I should probably just not get involved, you know? It’s always so hard when I have to break it off because we’re getting too close—or when _they_ break it off because I won’t let them in. I’m tired of it.”

This time, rather than a steady plume, Æmyrie huffs out a series of smoke rings, which drift up to the ceiling and burst against the plasterwork. Tadashi watches them, and turns to glare at the little dragon when they don’t let up.

“You’re going to leave a mark,” he says, frowning. “Stop it.”

Without moving her snout, Æmyrie looks from the ceiling to Tadashi, still blowing smoke rings. Inasmuch as dragons can _have_ facial expressions, this one looks rather smug and contrary.

“I mean it!” Tadashi cries. “And, it’s fine, really. _I’m_ fine. I’ve got work, and the regulars there, and…it’s enough. There’s no rule saying everyone has to have a happily ever after with someone else, you know. And besides, I’ll take this over forever having to hide part of who I am, any day.”

That much is true enough, for all that Æmyrie might huff and fuss. He’s tried dating before—tried making close _friends_ before, and it always seems to end the same way. He can’t talk about magic, and his prospective friends or partners can’t accept that he keeps such a large proportion of his life entirely private. It’s better by far that he just carries on the way he always has, and spares himself the heartache.

Or that’s his resolution, at any rate, one which is sorely tested when Tall, Blond and Handsome returns to the cafe a few weeks later, just as Tadashi is about to start taking inventory. He looks a little wary as he enters, glancing from side to side as though he expects something to leap out at him, and Tadashi reflexively clenches his fists beneath the counter, knocking them together twice to activate the protective wards laid in (somewhat paranoid) readiness around the building.

“Hi!” he says brightly, forcing his nerves away. “What can I get you today?” He’s just being paranoid. What could possibly be wrong? It’s got to be just his imagination, or something perfectly mundane which doesn’t warrant his using actual _magic_ to protect the cafe.

“Ah, hi,” the other man replies, glowering down at the display of cakes and pastries. “I…”

“Same as last time?” Tadashi offers. If there’s one thing he’s picked up about Tall, Handsome and Broody, it’s that he doesn’t really say a lot. Perhaps he’s shy.

 _He’s definitely shy_ , Tadashi thinks as the man glances at him briefly before looking away. Could that be the problem?

“Sure,” Tall, Handsome and Shy says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

There’s something different about him, Tadashi is sure of it. He’s still every bit as guarded as before, but the sensation of brooding anger has shifted slightly. Tadashi isn’t quite sure what it’s shifted _to_ , but it feels a little like an improvement. A long way from the happy, cheerful auras of the regular customers perhaps, but Tadashi tries to push that out of his mind, letting the wards drop. He’s already meddled enough with this man, and without even knowing his name.

Tadashi is most of the way through preparing what could only _loosely_ be called the blond’s regular order when the man in question speaks, abruptly enough that Tadashi jumps.

“So,” he says, then falls silent for a few agonising seconds as Tadashi scrambles to pick up the knife he’d dropped in his surprise. “I, er…wanted to say thank you. For…with my umbrella.”

Tadashi turns and grins, hoping his cheeks aren’t too red. “Oh, it was nothing!” he says. “Happens all the time with me.”

The man opposite him raises one eyebrow, high enough that he can see it above the frame of his glasses, and Tadashi is momentarily taken aback by both envy (he can never quite manage to do that, and it’s been bugging him for years) and how unreasonably attractive an expression it is. In all honesty, ‘unreasonably attractive’ more or less sums this guy up completely.

“You get a lot of broken umbrellas to fix in a cafe?”

Now Tadashi _is_ blushing. Shit.

“Well, not exactly umbrellas, but it’s surprising how many people need a bit of help with something, and only realise it when they sit down. Stuck zips on coats, fraying shoelaces…one time we had a woman come in with three children and she was so busy trying to keep them all quiet that she didn’t realise until she was about to leave that a wheel had come off her stroller. So I— _we_ started to keep things around just in case, you know?”

It’s a little like being at university again, standing in front of his professor and trying to gauge whether his latest round of excuses had been believed. He’s long practised at finding plausible explanations for the magic he can’t talk about, but there’s something about the man in front of him which takes him right back to those early days of fumbling for words.

 _It’s because he’s hot,_ he thinks glumly. _There’s no point denying it._

“I see,” Hot Guy says, and for one awful second Tadashi can’t help but worry that somehow he’s telepathic and just heard that. But:

“It’s considerate,” he goes on, apparently unaware of Tadashi’s frantic internal panicking. It subsides a little as the man smiles crookedly, and adds: “A rare quality, nowadays.”

It’s not flirting. It’s _really_ not flirting. Or it shouldn’t be, anyway, but there’s something about the expression on his face which brings the heat right back to Tadashi’s cheeks.

“Well, I don’t know about _that—_ ”

“What time do you close?”

“Hm? Oh, the same time as every—oh. _Oh!_ ” His cheeks are _definitely_ red now. Damn, Hot Guy is _smooth_. Assuming he hasn’t misread the situation again that is, but then how much worse an impression can he really make at this point? He might as well make a go of it. Worst case scenario, he just has to live with his humiliation, or possibly lay a deterrent charm at the cafe entrance to reduce the likelihood of their running into each other again. It’s not as though business is normally slow. One customer won’t mind.

“About half an hour,” he says, as lightly as he can manage. “You planning to wait?”

 _This is a terrible idea,_ he thinks, but the thought doesn’t last past the faint hint of red on Hot Guy’s cheeks. He’s allowed to hope, right? Maybe things won’t turn out the same as they normally do, this time.

 

* * *

 

It’s been a long time since Kei dated anyone. Urgh, even the word gets his back up a little. It’s not a _date_. They’re not _dating._

He’s just taking a little extra time over his drink, and as the cafe happens to be closing soon, he might as well loiter a little longer while the (somehow real) beacon of kindness who works behind the counter closes up, and goes to tell the suspiciously inconspicuous manager of the place that he’s off for the night.

The sun is making its way down the horizon as he follows Yamaguchi out of the cafe, wishing he didn’t feel quite so self-conscious. The usual worry is already hogging enough of his brainpower, without adding social discomfort to it.

 _Still, what about when something weird happens,_ the little nagging voice in the back of his mind says. _He’s going to be freaked out. He’s going to think you’re a freak too. They always do._

No. He’s not doing this. He can have one night, can’t he? It’s been _months_ since he had any kind of extended conversation with someone which didn’t take place over the phone or via email. It’s about time—

“Sooo…” Yamaguchi says, interrupting his train of thought. “You, um, never did tell me your name, you know.”

Kei winces. Ah, yes. He really _has_ gotten rusty at this whole ‘socialising’ thing.

“Right. Yes. Sorry, you must think—”

Yamaguchi laughs. Not a bad laugh, either. It’s the infectious kind, the kind which—combined with the expression on his face—has Kei wondering how he can make him laugh again.

“It’s fine!” Yamaguchi goes on, flapping his hand in Kei’s direction. “You were a customer. It would have been weird. Let’s start over.” He comes to a halt, and bows. “I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi…though I guess you probably know my family name from my badge already. It’s nice to meet you…”

Kei nods his head, letting his shoulders dip a little as well. “Tsukishima Kei,” he says. “I…don’t make a habit of this, you know.”

Yamaguchi grins again. “Neither do I. I’m being rather impulsive. We should probably drink to that or something.”

It’s a bad idea. Kei knows this. Nothing good ever comes of his meeting people. Nothing good ever comes of his drinking alcohol. He can’t imagine combining the two will do anything but speed up the universe’s plan to ruin his life.

He says yes anyway. Damn the consequences.

 

* * *

 

Tadashi ends the night with a new number in his phone and a few too many beers in his stomach. He’s lightheaded and happy as he walks home—Tsukishima hadn’t asked to come with him, or offered that they go back to his place either, but that’s okay! Tadashi doesn’t want that. He’s not looking for something deep. Not yet. He’s flirted and dated in the past, certainly, but always withdrawn before things got serious enough to invite anyone home. To even _think_ about doing something like that, he’d have to trust them with the knowledge of his power, and that’s a big ask. It’s a big commitment to consider.

And it’s a little sweet of Tsukishima, too, he thinks as he wobbles his way along the hall of the apartment block to his front door. It’s much more gentlemanly than pushing for more after just a few drinks over one evening. Most people are too pushy. They don’t _know_ each other yet. He likes this slower pace. It’s got promise, surely.

“I’m home,” he murmurs, closing the door behind him. There’s a scraping, rattling sound from the living room, and then the flapping of leathery wings as Æmyrie launches herself out of the woodburner and across the room to land on his shoulders.

“Ow!” he cries, plucking her scorching talons off his coat. “Stop doing that! I’m fine! Just…stayed out a little late, that’s all.”

He grimaces down at his coat as she pulls free of his hands and hovers in front of him, the breeze from her wings doing wonders for his tipsiness. There are black burn marks on his shoulder. Æmyrie pokes at the one nearest with her snout, backing up when Tadashi brushes her away with a sigh.

“I’ll fix it in the morning,” he mutters.

She croaks at him in return, which always strikes him as a surprisingly loud and ugly sound for such a small creature, even after all these years, and drops to the ground before poking him on the shin with the talon on the end of her wing.

Tadashi drops to his knees—something his remaining lightheadedness makes altogether too easy. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you worry. It was a _good_ delay, not a bad one. Or, I hope so, anyway.”

He smiles reaching out to tickle the underside of her jaw in just the right place.

“I got his name, Æmyrie. And his _number_. Don’t let me mess this up, okay?”

 

* * *

 

It’s strange, talking to Yamaguchi. Kei knows how this works, after all. You meet someone attractive, go out for drinks with them, exchange numbers, potentially hook up… And then the interrogation begins. What does he do for a living. What’s his family like. What are his hobbies. What does he eat for breakfast. Can I come over. Spend the night. Invade, invade, invade, until they’re so present in his life that there’s no escaping the weirdness which surrounds him. The cosmic joke which is his fortune.

‘Cursed’, Akiteru had called him once, in an attempt to joke. But it’s true enough, all the same. The word had stung a bit at the time but he’s used to it now. He’s heard it over and over. Sooner or later anyone he lets into his life gets around to saying it.

And then there’s Yamaguchi. Yamaguchi asks all the normal questions, he supposes. But there’s never a demand for information, and never an eagerness to overshare his own in return. Kei likes that. Too many people dump their entire life stories on him out of the blue, staring at him expectantly as though he’s supposed to _do_ something about it.

Yamaguchi never does. Their night out for a few drinks turns into two—then three, four, _five._ He learns that Yamaguchi is an only child, one who grew up in a village and decided to give city living a go when he finished university. Kei learns his favourite food; favourite colour; which drinks he prefers. Learns that Yamaguchi has a little dimple on the right-hand side of his face, and a scar across the back of his hand which he got from falling out of a tree.

But there’s no sob story. No life goals to burden Kei with. And in return he feels free to leave his own shrouded in shadows. There’s no pressure to talk about why he has no other friends, to defend his solitary lifestyle or alter it entirely by meeting friends of Yamaguchi who would only be _more_ people to potentially turn on him. Yamaguchi offers up snippets of himself piece by gentle, unforced piece, and Kei can feel himself falling. Feel it in the way he can’t help but smile as the other man talks about a customer that afternoon, or something he’d seen on television, or the wild theories he sometimes concocts about his manager’s probably illicit activities out the back.

He feels it as their lips brush together for the most chaste of first kisses, brief and hurried, and somehow, appallingly, charming all the same. Charming even when those which follow offer scarcely more, snatched in quiet moments as they walk along, ducking into doorways or pausing on empty corners for a semblance of privacy. Kei can’t even bring himself to mind when Yamaguchi grows comfortable and familiar enough with him to shorten his name.

But it’s dangerous, because Kei knows what comes next. He can only escape it so long.

The strange luck which seems to surround Yamaguchi—the same ‘luck’ which had warned Kei away from him at the start, until he’d realised that he’d actually met one of the few impossibly Good People he’d always been told about as a boy and never quite believed in— _that_ luck? So far it’s held. So far the curse of bad fortune and strange happenings which follow him— _haunt_ him—have been avoided. But the fear is lodged in his mind, leaving his thoughts disjointed; setting him on edge.

Sooner or later, he’ll run face first into it. The warning signs are already there.

His old favourite comes first. A bulb blows above them as they’re stood next to each other at the bar fetching drinks, plunging them into a negative spotlight. The barman glances up at it curiously, then shrugs and moves over to a better-lit area to continue. Kei frowns up at it, but when he looks back down Yamaguchi is watching _him._

The rest of the evening passes without incident, but the following morning Kei wakes to find that all the clocks in his house have reset to half past five—from the old wind up antique on a shelf in the corner, to the flashing display on his oven and microwave. He resets them one by one, scowling. His alarm clock hadn’t been exempt, and now he’s two hours later than he’d intended logging into his laptop for work.

It has him on edge. Nothing _impossible_ has happened—he hadn’t wound the clock in a little while, and a brief power cut would account for the electronic devices. Even the fact that his very underused wristwatch, long stopped, has also come to rest at five thirty could be passed off as a coincidence. But it’s too much for that, particularly so soon after another bulb blowing on him. It’s not fair, but since when has anything about his life been fair?

What makes it even _less_ coincidental is that he’d arranged with Yamaguchi as they’d parted the night before to meet that evening at closing time. Half five.

On impulse, he picks up his phone and finds himself halfway through a message before coming to his senses. What is he _doing?_

_::Yamaguchi. Hey. This is probably going to sound odd but there’s something I need to warn you about::_

He can’t send this. He can’t send anything like it. No. No no no. _Delete_. Delete and back out of the email programme and shut down background applications. He’s a hair’s breadth from switching his phone off entirely.

It’s fine. He just needs to pull back a little. They’ve been spending too much time together; any more and Yamaguchi will see the reality for himself.

 _You could try telling him,_ the voice of bad decisions in the back of his mind says. _Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll be different._

 _Yeah, right,_ comes the immediate thought on its tail. _It’ll just hurt worse when he laughs at you. When he realises you weren’t lying and calls you a freak. There’s no point getting attached._

The back and forth continues in his mind, but deep down he already knows where it will end up. Where it always ends up.

 _::Hey, Yamaguchi::_ Kei ends up typing, several trying minutes later. He feels heavy, as though each breath is twice as much effort as usual. The feeling that he’s making a mistake won’t go away, but that’s all the more reason he has to do this.

_::Something came up. Won’t be able to make it tonight, sorry.::_

_::Not sure when I’m next free::_

 

* * *

 

Tadashi isn’t a mind reader, although he did meet one once. Nor does he have the ability to somehow reach through digital devices and find out what the person on the far side of them can possibly be thinking. So he doesn’t know why Tsukki is lying to him, even though he’s more or less completely sure he is.

It just doesn’t make _sense._  Okay, so he doesn’t really know a lot about him, deep down. And—and actually, thinking about it, that possibly _is_ a little strange. He’s never worried before, always too grateful not to have to trot out the usual cover story about why his apartment is no good to visit, or why he can’t stay away overnight. But is it really _normal_ to not have been asked about that, and to not have any detailed information about his sort-of boyfriend’s life in return?

Come to that, _are_ they boyfriends? They’ve never really talked much about their status either, and it’s a question he’s had to field multiple times before now.

The growing uneasiness in his gut as he reads and re-reads the messages on his phone means that something is wrong. He’s always trusted his instincts before, and now they’re practically screaming at him. _It’s not right. It’s not true._ Something else is going on, and he needs to know what.

It _hurts_ , too, to think that Tsukki’s lying to him. To _know_ he is, because if there’s one thing he’s learnt about the other man in the time they’ve been together, it’s that he lives a very quiet life and isn’t interested in maintaining a large social circle. It’s obvious enough, from the fact that he mentioned working from home, to the quips about his disdain for heavy drinkers and partygoers, to the constant response of ‘oh, not much’ whenever Tadashi asks what he’s been up to.

Tadashi sits back in his chair.

 _Oh._ Oh, they don’t really have a very good foundation together, do they. But the thing is, he _likes_ Tsukki, really he does. He likes the other man’s opinions—short and blunt and to the point—and his sense of humour. He likes the way he grumbles about the world at large, but will automatically hold doors open for everyone, even if it’s not really convenient, and is never anything other than impeccably polite to shopworkers or bartenders. How he blushes every time he receives _or_ gives a compliment.

And that’s not even getting into the way Tadashi’s stomach flips when Tsukki walks into the cafe, or how he feels a little breathless every time he sees him smile. Tadashi’s weak, he’s already been over that, but he’s gotten far weaker still over the last few weeks.

Weak doesn’t mean _spineless_ though.

“It’s no good,” he tells Æmyrie, frowning at his phone. “I can’t keep doing thing by half. I’ll do my best to get to know more about who he _really_ is, and then I guess I’ll see if I can trust him with the truth or not. It’s not good for either of us to be strung along like this, right?”

 

* * *

 

Kei wakes up to a message from Yamaguchi on his phone, and a large crow perched on the corner of his desk. Or at least, that’s what the large, sinister black blob resolves into when he scrambles for his glasses—right on the edge of his bedside cabinet as always, and not in the centre where he’d left them. There’s too much going wrong for him to worry about that usual inconsistency though, so Kei simply jams them on his face and stares at the improbable creature in front of him. He glances over at the window, which at least has the decency to be open. Unlike when he’d gone to sleep the night before.

Had he left it unlatched? He’d probably left it unlatched. It must have gotten open, and everyone knows how crafty crows are. They can use tools, and have a sort of language, and—and are actually rather large and intimidating, particularly when they stare sideways at him so relentlessly.

“Okay,” he says, sliding himself into a sitting position, and eyeing up the door to his living room.

He can make it. He can _probably_ make it, and anyway, what’s a crow going to do? They flap out of the way normally. It’s just going to be a complete nuisance to get rid of, that’s all. The worst case scenario is that he has to call some sort of animal or pest control, and pay for them to deal with this nonsense themselves. Birds get stuck in houses sometimes. That’s a thing that happens.

It’s a thing that happens to _him_ , at any rate.

Kei escapes his bedroom, and shuts the door behind him, letting the back of his head knock against the wood. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t _deserve_ this. No one does.

By the time the bird is gone, it’s almost midday and he’s well behind on his work. It’s not until mid-afternoon that he remembers to check his phone, and finds the message from Yamaguchi he hadn’t managed to read first thing:

_::I have a couple of days left of my annual leave to book soon. When are you free? We should do something together. Something a bit better than a few drinks for a couple of hours.::_

Kei stares at the message. It’s ominously cheerful, particularly with the timing. Yamaguchi wants to get to know _him_ better? Well, he might for now, but that’s going to change soon enough. He can still hear the awful, grating cawing of the crow. He still has to finish laundering his soiled bedsheets, and clean the other signs of his battle with the creature from his bedroom. It’s not a story he can tell without either making himself look stupid or crazy. It’s not a story he can tell at _all._ Not if he wants to keep up the illusion that he is every bit as normal and ordinary as he desperately wishes he could be.

Normality would be nice, though. Normality of the kind Yamaguchi has, easily laughing and joking with his co-workers and customers, effortlessly confident in himself.

Kei sighs, and stares down at the message. He’s not stupid. It’s an ultimatum. Give more of himself, or back off. They’ve plateaued, reaching as far as occasional nights out will take them. If he wants any more from Yamaguchi he has to give more of himself than he’s willing to. More than he’s _able_ to, in a very real sense.

…Is it wrong that he wants to try, even so?

 

* * *

 

Tadashi doesn’t often take days off work. There’s not a lot of point, really. He goes home for a week once a year, and that’s honestly an arduous enough experience in itself. What would he _do_ —sit at home all day, just him and Æmyrie? It’s not exactly an exciting prospect.

Even so, to judge by the way his boss reacts when he asks for the following Thursday as leave, anyone would think he was the laziest member of staff on the payroll. It takes a considerable amount of persuasion, both honest and slightly underhanded, in order to actually secure the day and ensure that there will be someone in to cover him. He feels a little sorry for Chigaya already.

It’s just this once though, and honestly, when _was_ the last time he had a day off which didn’t stem from family obligations? It will be fine. It will be worth it. Hopefully.

The day itself rolls round, and Tadashi finds himself staring down his reflection in the mirror and wondering if he ought to do something about his appearance. After all, people are meant to put in a bit of effort for a date, right? But on the other hand, every time he and Tsukki have been together so far, it’s been either during or after a shift at work, which means Tsukki has seen him—and shown _interest_ in him—even when he’s covered in flour, or reeks of cleaning products, or has coffee stains all down his apron.

 _I’m fine, then,_ he tells himself ruefully. _Might as well be comfortable._

Æmyrie huffs smoke rings after him as he makes ready to leave, grumbling from the comfort of the woodstove.

“You’re just jealous that I’m going out and you’re not,” Tadashi informs her. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.”

They meet at the cafe, out of habit. Well, a little way along from the cafe, because magical influence or not, Tadashi doesn’t particularly trust his boss not to rope him back into working again if he’s spotted.

“Where to?” he asks as they find themselves walking along the path.

“Not sure,” Tsukki replies. He doesn’t meet Tadashi’s eyes as he speaks, and there’s something which feels off in general about him. Tadashi forces the thought from his mind. Tsukki’s just shy, that’s all. It’s _got_ to be all.

“Well!” he says brightly, smiling as broadly as he can. “Why not start with an early lunch? There’s a great place not far from here.”

Tsukki nods, keeping his head down. He’s acting oddly, but that could just be the shyness Tadashi is sure he suffers from, right? Has to be. Surely he’ll warm up as the day goes on.

They order lunch, although Tadashi isn’t really hungry, and from the way he picks at his food Tsukki doesn’t seem to be either. It feels awkward in a way none of their evenings out together have been, and Tadashi aches to close the gap. Aches to tell Tsukki about his week, but all the safe topics have been covered already, and it’s impossible to open up about the more risky, personal ones in such a public place.

It’s wrong. It all feels wrong. It’s as though he’s looking at a different person somehow, even though nothing has visibly changed. Why is Tsukki acting so differently of a sudden? There’s no real reason for it to have happened; no reason why he should be pulling away as he seems to be, unless… Does he think Tadashi doesn’t care? That he’s been being strung along?

It’s time to come clean then, and sort things out. But he _can’t_ explain about his magic without knowing if Tsukki is trustworthy. There has to be a way of testing his probable reaction, of finding out what he thinks before he puts so much trust in someone who is so guarded around him. There’s no taking back the words once they’re said, after all, not without a lot of powerful magic which could badly backfire. He wants to trust him, wants to _so_ badly, but this is far too important to take chances with.

He comes close, time after time as the awkward late-morning passes into afternoon and they wander a park together, stilted conversation attempts falling apart into uncomfortable silences. Something’s wrong. Something’s _wrong,_ and Tadashi is about to risk everything when they turn a corner and there, blocking the path, is a huge murder of crows, easily twenty or thirty of them in all. They look up in unison, and Tsukki stops dead in his tracks beside Tadashi, eyes wide.

“Well, you—you don’t see that every day,” Tadashi remarks, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Does he have a phobia of birds or something?

“No,” Tsukki says, and despite his would-be calm tone, there’s a slight tremor to his voice. “You don’t.” He frowns. “We should go back.”

“Back where?” Tadashi asks.

“ _Anywhere,_ ” Tsukki replies. “Anywhere but here.”

It seems a bit of an extreme reaction. Crows can be loud and raucous, and they won’t shy away from stealing eggs or bullying smaller birds, but he’s never met any which were actually a danger to _humans,_ no matter how many of them there are. Still, Tadashi gives him the benefit of the doubt. It’s not up to _him_ to decide what other people are afraid of, right? And it has to be a phobia on Tsukki’s part, because what other explanation is there?

 

* * *

 

Kei’s life is some sort of cosmic joke at his expense, and here’s why.

Continuing this… _thing_ he has with Yamaguchi is the biggest risk he’s taken in years. It’s dragging him out of his home, out of his comfort zone, opening him up to hurt and disappointment he’d sworn off of years ago, and he can’t even bring himself to mind. He wants more, more of Yamaguchi—wants to call him _Tadashi_ as he holds him close; kisses his freckled cheeks, and nose, and elsewhere besides.

But Tadashi is closed off and wary already, edging around giving away any details about his own life all morning despite his questions about Kei’s. Their conversations feel awkward and stilted. And then of course, the usual weirdness has to rear its ugly head. When the crows had appeared, all Kei could think of was the bird on his desk, watching him as he slept, and the horrific morning he had spent trying to evacuate it from his apartment. One had been bad enough, but a whole _group_ of them?

The encounter has him on edge as they backtrack along the path, even before the final straw arrives in the form of a huge swirl of dead leaves and debris picked up out of nowhere by a whirlwind which starts down the path in front of them. Dust devil, miniature tornado—call it what you like, it’s strong enough to tug at his clothes and hair, and make Yamaguchi cry out with surprise as it approaches.

It’s too much. Birds on one side, unnatural weather on the other—Kei’s caught, hemmed in by the curse of somehow natural unnatural phenomenon which chase him wherever he goes. There’s no escaping it, and surely by now Yamaguchi has to be thinking that there’s something _wrong_ with him.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Kei mutters, and clenches his fists. He steps back from the whirlwind, back from Yamaguchi, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

Yamaguchi stares between him and the whirlwind as he backs away a few more paces, eyes wide. He looks about to speak so Kei turns on his heel, striding quickly away as Yamaguchi calls for him to come back, to _wait_.

He keeps going, breaking into a run and not stopping until long after the cries die out and his side hurts—out of the park, down street after street until the air is silent and his breath heaves in his lungs, and he comes to a halt on an unknown road, clutching at his side and bracing himself against a wall. Alone.

He ignores the steady buzzing of his phone for several minutes, then fumbles in his pocket to fish it out and silence the dratted thing. It’s no good answering. There’s no point. Why keep trying to be normal? Why keep trying to have normal things, when the only thing that’s certain in his life is that he’s _cursed?_ Why stick around to see Yamaguchi realise? He’s no one that anyone wants to keep: from petty annoyances which plague him almost every day to larger unnatural happenings which crop up with unerring regularity, anyone shackling themselves to him is only hurting themselves.

Cars with brakes that fail and almost run him over. Dogs—allegedly placid and gentle—which turn on him when he approaches, yammering and straining at their leashes to reach him, sharp-toothed jaws wide. The constant stream of transportation delays which have drawn out every visit to his family for the last ten years. When will it end? Will it _ever_ end?

 _Probably not,_ he tells himself, marching along through the streets in search of a landmark. Predictably enough, his phone has given out for the day, it’s final hurrah the flurry of ignored messages and calls from Yamaguchi. It dies as he tries to open the map application in order to navigate his way home.

The sky grows dark overhead as he walks, and the heavens open. By the time he finally makes his way back to his apartment he’s soaked to the skin and freezing, and vows not to venture out for a week. Knowing his luck, if he tries it he’ll trip and break his ankle again.

After a long, hot shower, his phone is sufficiently charged to be turned on again, and he swiftly dismisses all the notifications of calls and messages. He’ll go through them all later.

 _::I’m sorry::_ he sends to Yamaguchi. _::I think it’s best if we don’t see each other again.::_

The phone is dumped face down on his desk. After checking that the window is bolted, and drawing both blinds and curtains across it, Kei slumps face forward onto his bed, willing himself into oblivion.

Yamaguchi will be fine. He’ll get over it and find someone normal, someone who can be a _real_ boyfriend. It was stupid of him to think that it would end up any differently to this. Stupid to think he wouldn’t hurt himself more by imagining he could have nice things. Stupid to think he ever had a chance to be happy with someone.

When he wakes in the morning, he finds the power out—every fuse in the breaker box having tripped some time in the night. Half the food in his freezer is already too defrosted to save, and the fruit in his refrigerator is past redemption too.

 _No more,_ he thinks, banishing as much of his self pity and regret as he can. It’s his own foolish optimism which got him here, and there’s no sense pretending otherwise. _No more flirting, no more going out for drinks. It only ever ends like this._

 

* * *

 

Tadashi is fairly sure he’s had his heart broken before, but it’s been a long while, and he doesn’t quite remember this level of pain accompanying the general misery. It’s not just the rejection that hurts—he’d been so close to _trusting_ Tsukki. So close to opening up and sharing the most fundamental secret about his life, the one he’s never told anyone.

Æmyrie offers what comforts she can, but there’s really only so much a little dragon can do to reassure him of his self-worth. The fact of the matter is, Tsukki— _Tsukishima,_ he reminds himself sternly—had played with him, and fled the moment he started to sense that there was something different about Tadashi.

Then again, had it even been the whirlwind which had done it? He’d run off claiming he ‘couldn’t do this anymore’, whatever ‘this’ had been supposed to mean. Did he even really like him, after all that? Was he even _gay?_ Had he just been stringing Tadashi along for fun, or a bet or something?

He falls deep into these pits of worry, cycling endlessly over everything he could have done differently, every clue he can try to find as to what went wrong. It’s Æmyrie who pulls him out each time, resting the tip of her nose against his arm and puffing smoke in his face, or settling into his lap and biting his arm just enough that he feels the pressure of her sharp, needle-like teeth threatening to puncture his skin.

She hisses her displeasure at his self-pity and wallowing, bulling him into taking showers and cooking food. Somehow the days pass, and he drags himself out of the worst of his slump, feeling no less stupid or miserable, but at least capable of functioning as something passing for a human being.

His regulars notice that something is up. It would be almost impossible for them not to, but that just means he has to pick himself up _properly._ He owes them better than that, right? They come in for drinks and food and the good cheer he provides, not to act as his source of comfort. After the first few enquiries after his health, he does a better job at disguising his puffy cheeks and shadowed eyes, relying on magic when makeup proves too much effort.

Æmyrie makes her disapproval known, but Tadashi waves her down.

“It’s not forever,” he says. “It’s just… I’m allowed to be upset about it. I really thought—” He shakes his head. “I won’t mope forever. I promise.”

It’s a promise which doesn’t seem like it’s going to be very easy to keep though, because try as he might, Tadashi can’t help but keep looking out of the window, waiting to see a familiar silhouette walking past on his way to the entrance. Waiting for any sign that Tsukk— _Tsukishima_ —might have changed his mind somehow, and be on his way to apologise.

And it’s not that Tadashi is desperate. Well, not much. He’s certainly not about to wave everything off as though it’s all forgiven. If he’s really honest with himself, he’s just as _angry_ as he is hurt by it all. Much as he’s never considered himself a violent person at all, there’s every chance he’ll lose his composure and try to hit Tsukishima right in his calm, handsome face if he ever sees him again. But after being completely blanked save for one message saying it was over, he’d at least like some _closure._ He’d at least like to hear the sentence come out of Tsukishima’s mouth, real and tangible, instead of just words on a page.

 

* * *

 

Kei doesn’t expect to get over Yamaguchi any time soon. It’s the closest he can ever remember getting to feeling accepted for who he is, feeling _normal_ , as though somewhere in the world there was a place he actually belonged. That he was mistaken might be his own fault, but it doesn’t make it any easier to recover from.

A part of him almost doesn’t _want_ to recover, in fact. There’s a sort of twisted logic to the idea behind mourning what might have been for the rest of his life. At least it means he’s less likely to get so desperate in his loneliness that he can’t help but let someone in again. Although, realistically, he doubts there’s anyone else in the world who will quite match up to Yamaguchi. In its own perverse way, it’s a comforting thought. After all, if he’s going to go down like this, at least it’s over the right person.

He haunts his phone for two weeks, wondering if Yamaguchi will call or message him. There’s no doubt the other man must be angry at him—he’s burned the bridge forever now—but he was at least expecting _something._ Anger, sadness, confusion. Questions or demands for an explanation. But there’s nothing, and much as it’s all he deserves, he hates that it’s what he’s been left with.

Slowly, bit by bit, he hauls himself back to something approaching normality. Remembers to get dressed every morning, instead of only when he has to leave his apartment. Remembers to _eat,_ even if it’s just convenience food. He hardly even minds the usual problems: The tap which won’t shut off; the lamp in his bedroom which seems to blow its bulb every other day or so; the food which turns in the fridge overnight.

It’s nothing new. It’s nothing different. It never changes, and it never will. It’s not fine, but it’s manageable, so there’s no point wasting his energy trying to fix it. Some people get their happy endings, but most people don’t, after all. Life just goes on.

There’s an inevitability to the way the ache settles into his heart and his gut as a constant companion, an additional weight to carry around each day alongside his usual line-up of problems. But it’s fine, he supposes. It’s not as though he expected anything different to happen, deep down.

The world carries on and he’s swept along with it, regardless of his feelings on the matter.

 

* * *

 

It’s closing time, and Tadashi is upending chairs onto tables so he can sweep beneath them. The sky outside is almost dark thanks to the oncoming winter, and he’s more than ready to get home. At this time of year, having a dragon for a roommate is well worth the hassle.

He and Chigaya chat a little as they work—Tadashi sweeping, and Chigaya cleaning out the coffee machine and sharing the details of the last date he’d had with his girlfriend. They’ve settled into their new apartment well, and are planning to get a kitten, and Tadashi is delighted for them both, really he is. He can’t wait to see pictures of the little fuzzball when it arrives.

“You got any pets?” Chigaya asks as they make their way to the staff area to collect their things.

“No,” Tadashi replies, and it’s sort of true, but mostly it’s a lie he’s well-practised at, designed to avoid the awkward moment when someone expects to see _pictures_ of the fictitious cat he could have pretended Æmyrie is. He’s been caught out before, and learned his lesson since. Anticipating the next question before it arrives, he adds: “Landlord doesn’t allow them.”

“Ah,” Chigaya says, nodding sagely as though this explains some deeper facet of Tadashi’s existence. He slips on his coat. “Well you’re always welcome to come round once the kitten settles in and get to know it.”

Tadashi has no intention of doing such a thing—it raises the possibility that Chigaya may expect a return visit to be offered, sometime in the future—but he nods and agrees all the same. The platitudes are just another part of blending in as an ordinary person. Another facet of his facade, one which he is all too eager to drop. The sooner he gets home, the better.

But for whatever reason, Chigaya is in a talkative mood, chattering as they walk out of the door and remarking that oh, hey, they’re walking the same way this time as he has to stop in at the pet store in anticipation, and without really knowing how, Tadashi is swept along with him, too exhausted to really protest.

It’s a slight diversion from his usual walk home, a somewhat unwanted detour born of politeness, but Tadashi supposes he shouldn’t _really_ mind. He’s leant on Chigaya a lot these last few weeks, relying on him to take over when he needs to duck out the back and regain his composure. That the other man has silently picked up the slack and not mentioned anything to their manager is a testament to his good character, and returning his kindness with a little feigned interest in his life is the honestly the least Tadashi can do.

He’s never _actually_ been into a pet store either, so it’s an educational experience of a sort. They dally around the cat toys and shelters, speculating whether the future kitten will prefer to climb or to chase—although Tadashi can’t say he has a lot of help to offer. Cats are among the few creatures sensitive enough to magic that they tend to avoid those who can use it.

By the time they escape the store—Chigaya awkwardly clutching his bag of small cat toys and treats—Tadashi feels just about ready to drop.

“See you tomorrow,” he says firmly, forcing a smile, and waves as he heads off in the opposite direction to his co-worker. It’s not _exactly_ the most direct route home, but that would have involved walking another block with the man and he’s run out of energy for that kind of thing today.

The disadvantage to his plan is that, with his mind elsewhere, his feet take him unerringly in the direction of the park. Caught up in muscle memory, he misses the turning for his apartment and carries straight along the road until he sees a familiar, unwanted figure approaching him, blond hair illuminated by the street lights as he walks along with his hands held in front of himself.

Tsukishima’s head is down, but before Tadashi can turn and leave he looks up, eyes widening in obvious panic. Tadashi’s too far to hear what he mutters, but going by the expression on the other man’s face it’s probably a curse of some sort.

His heart skips a beat and his stomach lurches as Tsukishima abruptly turns and vanishes into the park.

 _Oh,_ he thinks, and it’s a little like watching a part of himself die all over again.

But why had he hoped for something different? Why had he expected anything else? Tsukishima doesn’t want anything to do with him, so why _wouldn’t_ he run? He’s done it before.

Except, speaking of before, what had he been doing there? Something rings oddly about the way he’d been walking, examining his own hands. And even as Tadashi approaches the park entrance and sees Tsukishima walking briskly away down one of the paths, every light inside the park blinks out simultaneously, plunging the entire place into darkness.

Tadashi gapes. He—did he—he _can’t_ have—did a fuse trip somewhere? None of the streetlights outside the park are affected, only those inside. Is it just a coincidence? Surely it can’t be—

 _Find him!_ his instincts scream, and Tadashi has always trusted them to lead him the right way, always trusted that additional insight they give him.

He’s running into the darkness before he can finish the hand gesture to summon a proper light, heading toward the faint glow from a phone’s torch function—a light which gutters, accompanied by the sound of Tsukishima swearing.

Tadashi halts abruptly and fishes for his _own_ phone, quickly swapping the lights and mentally kicking himself for being so impetuous. What is he _doing,_ risking exposure like that?

Tsukishima looks up as he approaches, recoiling from the bright light and taking a step back.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Tadashi stares at him. “You wanted to be stuck in the _dark?_ I don’t think there’s a single light left on in the whole park—I wasn’t about to just _leave_ you here.”

“It’s just the dark,” Tsukishima mutters.

“I saw your phone die,” Tadashi adds. “Were you planning to _feel_ your way out? Unless that was all just an act as well, and you were only trying to get away from me. Again.”

He doesn’t miss Tsukishima’s flinch as he speaks, and okay so that might have been a little rude—but he’s well within his rights, isn’t he? This is the man who strung him along and made him believe he cared, only to turn around and ditch him.

“I…I’m sorry,” Tsukishima says. He doesn’t meet Tadashi’s eyes. “I won’t—”

They’re interrupted by hail. A sudden downpour, pelting them with ice pellets which clatter against the gravel path making a colossal din, and pepper them with future bruises. Tadashi yelps, distracted enough that he’s halfway through the charm to shelter himself before he realises he _can’t,_ and that he’s waving his phone in the air probably looking like a complete idiot, as much as Tsukishima can actually see.

But Tsukishima is already backing away into the dark, eyes wide and panic-striken.

“I need to go,” he says. “I…I can’t—”

“ _Where_ are you going?” Tadashi cries over the din. “You can’t _see_ anything!”

He reaches out and grabs Tsukishima by the arm, flashing his phone around to light the way. “There!” he calls, setting off along the path to a section where the trees offer shelter from the sudden hail. Tsukishima stumbles along beside him, almost tripping over his own feet as they make their way to the overhang.

They’re both soaked by the time they reach it, covered in melting hail which drips down Tadashi’s neck and into every gap in his clothes. Tsukishima doesn’t seem to have fared any better, although it’s hard to tell from the light of just one phone.

“Wow, that’s some crazy weather, for sure,” Tadashi remarks as it starts to fade into rain. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it come on so suddenly.”

Tsukishima says nothing. Tadashi doesn’t quite dare shine the phone on him to see what kind of face he’s making—it’s a given that he’s unhappy with the current situation, but what else was he meant to do? Leave him out there in total darkness in the middle of a freak hailstorm?

“I hope it lets up soon,” he mutters. Tsukishima stays silent.

He lets the awkward atmosphere linger a minute or so longer, then grits his teeth.

“Don’t you have _anything_ to say?” he snaps. “I know you’ve taken offence at me for some reason, but I did just help you out back there.”

“I didn’t take offence,” Tsukishima mutters, quietly enough that Tadashi almost doesn’t hear him over the driving rain. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tadashi stares, turning his phone so that it illuminates Tsukishima’s face. He’s staring out into the rain, and looks away slightly as the light shines on him.

“Then why did you do it?” he asks, trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears which threaten. “Why break things off like that? Was it…was it all just a _joke_ to you or something?”

“No!” Tsukishima snaps, turning to glare at him sharply enough that he sends a shower of raindrops everywhere. “You…you wouldn’t understand.”

“Well I don’t _understand_ anyway, so you might as well try me,” Tadashi says, lowering the torch on his phone so that it’s pointing down at the sopping grass and leaves beneath their feet. He’d rather they both be in the dark than look at Tsukishima right now. “Unless you’ve got that umbrella of yours somewhere it doesn’t look like we’ll be leaving any time soon.”

Tsukishima sighs, and for a long minute the rain pours on around them both stood silently in their patch of comparative shelter. Silent and probably freezing. Tadashi certainly is, anyway.

“It’s because of this,” Tsukishima says at last. His voice is heavy, and slow, and still quiet enough that Tadashi can hardly hear it over the rain. “I didn’t see any point. You were going to work it out and leave me in the end, so I saved you the hassle.”

“ _What?_ Why would I have _left_ you?” Tadashi asks. He’s angry now, angry enough that he doesn’t even care when his phone slips out of his hand and lands face down on the ground, plunging them into near-total darkness. “And what was I going to ‘work out’, anyway? You’re not making any sense!”

He clenches his fists, taking a step forward. “I _cared_ about you. I _trusted_ you. I thought you were—”

Tsukishima’s eyes go wide and he stumbles backward, tripping and landing in the mud. He scrabbles to push himself further away and it takes Tadashi an eternal few seconds to realise what’s gone wrong: he can actually see Tsukishima. There’s light, here in the darkness where it hadn’t existed a few seconds earlier. Worse still, to judge by Tsukishima’s panicked expression, _he’s_ the source of it.

“Oh _shit._ ”

 

* * *

 

Yamaguchi is glowing.

Yamaguchi is _glowing_ , and that is definitely not something which is humanly possible. And, granted, he seems to be _panicking_ about it, which ought to be a reasonable enough reaction—but even his panic is the wrong kind! He’s standing in front of Kei giving off a faint, gentle light and stuttering _apologies,_ as though he’s made some kind of faux pas instead of giving off actual, genuine light.

 _I’m in shock,_ Kei thinks, scrambling in the wet, muddy mix of leaves and grass to get further away. It puts him on a collision course with the pouring rain and he flinches, angling his head so that less of the downpour ends up on his glasses. It shouldn’t be real. It has no _business_ being real—but somehow it is, all the same.

“ _What—_ ” he manages to croak, raising a hand to gesture at…well, everything really. This is not how the evening should be going. He’d left his flat to buy something to eat, and now here he was sprawled in mud while Yamaguchi—the man who is supposed to be getting on with his life and being _normal_ is standing over him looking about as far from normal as Kei has any knowledge of seeing in his entire life.

Yamaguchi drops to his knees and grabs his phone, inadvertently shining the torch right in Kei’s eyes. By the time Kei has finished wincing and swearing, the glow has stopped. It’s abrupt enough that Kei can’t help but expect Yamaguchi to deny it.

He’s not expecting the desperate apology, or the promise of an explanation if he’ll _only_ agree not to tell anyone what just happened.

Against his better judgement, he nods. Life’s gone enough to shit lately that he can’t quite bring himself to care any more. People glow now. That happened. In the face of such clear nonsense, even the damn crow on his desk rather pales into insignificance, so why _not_ indulge in his somewhat morbid curiosity about how much stranger and more disturbing the world can get?

Yamaguchi helps him to his feet, and they huddle together in the dark beneath the tree for a few seconds before Yamaguchi abruptly shakes his head, muttering something to himself. He waves his hands and pulls his jacket off, stretching it out flat. Kei can’t look away—it actually _holds_ the shape Yamaguchi pulls it into, and serves admirably as the makeshift umbrella the man obviously intends it to be.

“Let’s go,” Yamaguchi says. “I’ve already blown it, I might as well explain everything someplace dry.”

 _Why the hell should I go anywhere with you?_ is what Kei thinks but does not say. His instincts scream that Yamaguchi is trustworthy, and a lifetime of ignoring them has helped him avoid hassle and trouble and a probably significant amount of the endless strangeness which follows him everywhere he goes. But it hasn’t, on balance, actually gotten him anywhere he _wanted_ either. Maybe it’s time he gives in and listens to them for a change.

He follows Yamaguchi through the rain with a small, still-functioning corner of his mind marvelling at the fact that no one seems to have noticed the entirely impossible umbrella. But then again, the rain is still coming down pretty hard, so most likely no one is willing to spare the time or energy to look up and actually _see_ it.

They end up at the bar which had been their regular haunt, with Yamaguchi shaking out his coat before they turn onto the street, and leading the way to the most isolated table in the corner once they’re inside.

Neither one of them speaks. Not as they walk, not as they sit. There’s no move even to order drinks—Kei isn’t particularly in the mood for alcohol in a situation like this, in any case. Everything is strange enough already without impairing his brain’s ability to process reality.

“You…you’re taking this remarkably well,” Yamaguchi says at last, looking up from a very detailed study of his own clasped hands where they rest on the table between them.

“I’m waiting for _any_ kind of explanation,” Kei replies. And maybe any other night he’d leave it there, but he’s just seen another man glow in the dark, so at this point where’s the sense in pretending normality exists?

“I’ve seen a lot of strange, almost inexplicable things happen around me,” he goes on, half noting the way Yamaguchi’s eyes widen a fraction. “But this is… a new one for me.”

“What kind of strange things?” Yamaguchi asks, as though he’s not the one who started _glowing_ earlier. Kei wants to go home—he’s still soaking wet, he’s hungry, and now he’s having the most surreal conversation of his entire life with his…is Yamaguchi his ex? Did they ever actually get that far?

“Is this relevant?” he asks, letting all his frustration leak into his voice. “But if you must know, you’ve seen some of them already. Why do you think I cut things off? People don’t usually care to be around someone who’s some kind of magnet for strange natural phenomenon and technological malfunctions.”

This time Yamaguchi’s jaw actually drops. “That was _you?_ ” he asks, leaning forward, hands splayed out on the wood of the table. “You did that with the lights? I—I half thought it was _me!_ ”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Kei snaps. “It just happened. The way it _always—_ ” He stops suddenly as Yamaguchi’s words sink in, and stares across the table. Yamaguchi is staring at him, radiating attentiveness and curiosity, and the feeling in his gut is that he’s missing something really obvious. He _hates_ that feeling, enough that normally he will back out of any situation which threatens it, but he’s already tried and failed to throw off Yamaguchi once. He’s already made himself completely miserable and gained nothing, so how can chasing his instincts—which clamour for answers—make it worse?

“What do you mean you thought it was you?” he asks, and watches the way the bright, hopeful spark in Yamaguchi’s face dies away. The frustration makes him want to scream. What is he missing. What is he _continually_ getting wrong here? “Tell me what’s going on. You promised an explanation and so far it’s just been an interrogation.”

Yamaguchi winces. He glances behind him, and then around at the rest of the bar, before finally meeting Kei’s unimpressed stare.

“This isn’t really the right place to talk about it,” he mumbles. “But I can’t—” He sighs, hanging his head. “What you were saying, it sounded a little as if you were…like _me._ But you don’t…you should…”

He falls silent and Kei wonders if this is it. If this is fate’s final trick on him, dangling the possibility of happiness in front of him one last time before the rug is pulled out and Yamaguchi vanishes from his life completely. Because it would be fitting, wouldn’t it? Taunt him with the idea that Yamaguchi’s life is strange enough that he doesn’t mind Kei’s eternal misfortune, and then dump the final reveal that it was just a misunderstanding all along?

But Yamaguchi doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t shake his head and say it’s nothing, that after all this they’re better off being apart just as Kei had pointed out. He leans in, further still, gesturing for Kei to do the same until they’re both leant forward over a brightly lit table in the corner of a bar, as people all around them laugh and drink their evening away to the gentle background of whatever shitty music Kei has long-since tuned out, and says, stuttering and awkward and entirely earnestly:

“The thing is, I have magic. And it sort of sounds like you do as well. Didn’t anyone ever _tell_ you?”

 

* * *

 

Tadashi watches Tsukishima for a reaction, but there isn’t one. Kei just stares at him, frozen and impassive, as though he’s just come to a complete halt in the middle of taking a breath. He’s not really breathing, not even blinking, and Tadashi knows the calm has to break soon, he knows it’s coming and the worst part is the _waiting,_ the uncertainty because if he’s got this wrong it’s going to be so hard to put right again.

But it has to be right, doesn’t it? Normal people don’t cause localised blackouts, and now that he thinks back on it, there are other clues as well. The whirlwind; the way he’s never talked much about his life; the way he’s never invited Tadashi in—he’s kept his distance in exactly the same way Tadashi always has, except Tadashi _knows_ why he’s doing it, and from the sounds of it Tsukishima doesn’t. If he’s right. If Tsukishima will only confirm it, will only give him more _proof._

“I don’t have magic,” Tsukishima says at last, croaking out the words as though it’s as much as he can manage. “I have a _curse._ ”

Tadashi wants to both cry and laugh at the same time.

“Curses aren’t real,” he says, trying his best to smile. “But magic can look a lot like it sometimes, depending on what kind it is. I think—this is a pretty new situation for me, but I’ve heard about it happening before—if you didn’t know, it would sort of…bubble over a bit, eventually.”

Tsukishima is not a man who displays emotions. Tadashi doesn’t have to know where he lives or how he grew up to understand that much about him. His quiet reserve has been obvious since the beginning. So when he droops in his chair, tense shoulders sinking and his hands reaching out across the table towards his own—halting scant centimetres from his fingertips, hesitant and shaking—Tadashi feels pretty confident that this is as close as he must ever get to breaking down in tears.

“Are you telling me I can _fix_ it? Get rid of it? Make it go away?”

Tadashi’s reflexive reaction is to ask why _anyone_ would want to give up magic. It gives him so much, adds to his life in so many ways that he can’t conceive of who he would be, how he would exist without it. He holds it back purely because of the desperate expression on Tsukishima’s face as he speaks. What would his life have been like if he’d had magic and never known? And Tsukishima has enough that it’s spilled over and started messing with his life—enough magic to cause blackouts and start whirlwinds and…oh shit, _hailstorms_ too. No wonder he hates it. No wonder he wants it gone. That Tsukishima has somehow reached adulthood intact and relatively unscathed is something of a miracle.

“How are you _alive?_ ” he asks instead, and that was probably a mistake to judge by the reaction he gets, but it’s true, it really is. “I-I mean, yes! Yes, you can control it. I learned from my parents, but there are others who teach you if that’s too awkward—”

He stops, and takes in Tsukishima’s haggard face; hair plastered to the sides of his head, clothes muddy and stained.

“But you know there are good things too, right?” he asks. “It’s not all problems to control. That time when your umbrella broke, I, er, fixed it with magic, not glue. I fix things for a _lot_ of people without them knowing about it. I don’t know exactly what kind of magic you’ve got, but it’s not all blackouts and freak weather, I’m sure of it.”

Tsukishima doesn’t say anything for a long time. Tadashi lets him be—it would have been enough of a shock just learning about magic in general, let alone finding out that he has it as well somehow; has had it the whole time.

Something from earlier pops back in Tadashi’s head and lodges there, taking front and centre in his thoughts.

“Wait. Is _this_ why you broke things off? Because…what, you thought it would bother me?”

He knows he’s struck gold from the way Tsukishima looks down, pointedly refusing to meet his eyes. The words are an unnecessary echo of what he’s already worked out when they arrive:

“It’s hardly something I’ve been able to boast about. And it’s unreasonable to expect other people to put up with constant disruptions and not begin to resent me for it.”

“Well, I didn’t resent you Tsukki,” Tadashi finds himself saying. “I…really liked you, you know. It hurt, when you cut me out like that.”

Tsukishima looks away. His hands pull back from Tadashi’s. Everything about him draws in on itself, and despite his towering height he seems _smaller._

“I hurt both of us then,” he mutters, staring over at a group of rather more rowdy drinkers on the far side of the bar. “I didn’t want to stop seeing you, but I assumed you wouldn’t mind—”

“Well you were wrong,” Tadashi says, and frowns. The situation isn’t really as clear-cut as he’s making it out to be. It’s drawn out this long because neither of them were willing to take a chance, so it’s about time one of them changed that.

“We were _both_ wrong about a lot of things,” he adds, and reaches across the table to take Tsukishima’s hands. He’s rewarded with the faint blush he hasn’t seen in so long, the one which makes him feel a little giddy inside. “Why don’t we start over. _Properly_ this time, with everything laid out in the open between us.”

The faintest smile appears on Tsukishima’s cheek. “I’d like that,” he says, and it’s really all Tadashi can do not to leap out of his chair and throw himself across the table.

He beams instead, squeezing Tsukishima’s hands. It’s all or nothing—if he’s going to take another chance, he’s not holding back this time.

“Did…did you want to come back to my apartment?”

 

* * *

 

Kei follows Yamaguchi again, caught in a whirlwind of emotions which just won’t settle. It’s the strangest night in his life so far, and he can’t bring himself to care, can’t even seem to mind any more than his feet are cold and clothes covered in mud. He’d given up on everything and now it is, here in front of him and he might as well make the most of it while it lasts.

“…and I can make a charm or two to try and hold everything back while you learn…” Yamaguchi is saying, but even that hugely revelational note isn’t fully registering. It’s too much, too soon to really process. He’s still wrapping his head around the notion that everything he’d assumed about his life is turning upside down.

It’s strange, and it’s chaotic, and he wants to reach out and take hold of it with two hands; snatch it close so it can’t slip away. So _Yamaguchi_ can’t slip away. It’s a second chance he’d never seen coming, too good to be true. He’s not going to throw it away this time.

“Here we are,” Yamaguchi says, fishing in his pocket. He looks up at Kei, eyes betraying his nervousness as he leads the way through the lobby of his apartment building to a door on the ground level. He hesitates, not quite meeting Kei’s eyes as he adds: “I’ve, uh, never brought anyone here before.”

“You think I’ve ever invited anyone back to _my_ apartment either?” Kei asks.

“Well, _okay,_ ” Yamaguchi says, blushing fiercely. “But you probably don’t have—”

He stops, and sighs, opening the door with a gesture. Kei is definitely not going to get used to that any time soon—that or his sudden curiosity about what _else_ he can do via magical means.

“Come on in,” Yamaguchi says. “There’s er, someone I want you to meet.”

 

* * *

 

Tadashi has never allowed himself to open up to anyone before. Never taken a chance on someone and let them into his life. He’d been okay with it, really he had. Been content with his place in the world, quietly and unobtrusively helping strangers with their days and keeping himself to himself. It had been lonely, perhaps, but nothing he couldn’t cope with.

Magic has been a part of his life as long as he can remember: something which sets him apart from most people; something which cuts him off from the things most people take for granted. He’d thought it was ample compensation, thought he didn’t need any more.

He watches Tsukishima’s face as he meets a dragon for the first time and wonders how he ever deluded himself so badly. There’s _so_ much more he wants. He’s not going to let it all pass him by any more.

“You should stay the night,” he says, as Æmyrie settles herself in Tsukishima’s—his _boyfriend’s_ lap, with no sign of wanting to be disturbed.

 

* * *

 

The lights in the room flicker around Kei as he sinks deeper into the sofa. Beside him, Tadashi laughs, and remarks that he ought to have noticed that happening sooner. Kei leans closer, resting his head on Tadashi’s shoulders.

 

It’s fine. Nothing to worry about.

 

It’s the first time he’s ever thought that and actually meant it.


End file.
